


Blond Ambition

by zaphodsgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining Castiel, Prank Wars, Season/Series 13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-14 03:26:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14761713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaphodsgirl/pseuds/zaphodsgirl
Summary: An offhand remark by Sam leads to Cas getting involved in the latest prank war, but it also leads Dean to to an unexpected confession.





	Blond Ambition

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to my beta [superhoney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney) for her invaluable support and assistance. 
> 
> I had the privilege of working with [dmsilvisart](https://dmsilvisart.tumblr.com/) for this challenge, writing for an amazingly fun piece of art they created for a simple idea: during a prank war, Sam convinces Cas to dye his hair blond, but it comes out a cartoon yellow color. 
> 
> I had a lot of fun crafting the story to go with this, and they created even more amazing art to go with it. I had a fantastic time collaborating on this with them! You can find the art masterpost [Here!](https://dmsilvisart.tumblr.com/post/174563445303/original-prompt-artwork-additional-scene-for%E2%80%9D%20rel=)
> 
> Thanks to Jojo and Muse for being brave enough to take ownership of the Dean/Cas Reverse Bang and giving everyone a chance to participate in it again this year.

It starts, as it always does, as a way to relieve stress. At least, that's the excuse Sam gives when Cas catches him screwing a small set of wheels into the bottom of Dean's easy chair in the Cave.

"I just don't think Dean will find it amusing, Sam," Cas says with a frown, tilting his head in that way he has when he's contemplating the great mysteries of humanity.

"Well, _he_ won't, but _I_ will," Sam says as he tightens the last screw. "Can you help me put this upright?" 

"I don't think I should, Sam."

"Dean's not gonna know you helped, man, don't worry." Cas doesn't look convinced, but he does help turn the chair upright. Sam spends a few minutes positioning it just right, standing back a few feet to see if the height difference from the other chair is too noticeable. 

"What exactly is the point of this exercise, Sam?"

"Well, knowing Dean he'll just come in and flop into his chair, and that will send him rolling across the floor..."

"I understand how _wheels_ work, Sam." He has that look on his face now that brooks no argument, and Sam sighs in resignation. 

"It's a prank war, Cas. There doesn't have to be a reason. It's just a way to wind down, let off some steam. You understand?" He can tell from the look on Cas's face that he does not.

"This room is where Dean comes to relieve stress, so how does it relieve it if you mess with his comfort chair?"

Sam laughs, patting Cas on the shoulder as he steers him out of the room. "It's called a _comfy_ chair, Cas, and the stress relief in this one is for _me_." He turns Cas in the direction of the kitchen, since they expect Dean to return with groceries eventually. "It's in retaliation for a prank he already pulled on me. I woke up yesterday morning and went into the bathroom to find that he'd hung about two dozen pairs of scissors from the ceiling." He glances at Cas long enough to catch the small smile on his face, and elbows him good-naturedly. "It's all in fun. We've been doing it to each other since we were kids."

Cas sits at the table in the bunker's kitchen, looking as relaxed as he's able to in the suit and trenchcoat that he hasn't removed, even though it's been two days since their last adventure. He thought being turned into a cartoon would help Cas loosen up, but he seems completely unaffected. He knows that Dean will start to needle at Cas the longer he stays, eventually encouraging him to shed the coat and even his suit jacket. Dean even had him to the point, once, where he had his actual shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

Sam doesn't have fond memories of the times Cas wore other clothes. He remembers the ill-fitting jeans and shirt Cas seemed to shrink into as a homeless human, making him seem so much smaller than the enormous angelic presence Sam was used to. He flinches to remember the shapeless white outfit he wore as a psych patient, doing penance for the turmoil he'd unleashed in Sam's own head. He wonders what it would be like for Cas to find a way to relax into life at the bunker, consider it more of a home than he does, what he might wear if he had other clothes to fill the empty drawers in the room they've given him.

Sam thinks about the matching recliner down in the mancave, and wonders if Cas has ever actually put his feet up at Dean's insistence. He thinks there are a lot of things Cas would do at a mere suggestion from Dean, and he wishes his brother would ask Cas for what he really _wants_. 

"Hey Cas," he says, aiming for feigned nonchalance, "you know this is your home, right?" 

"Yes, Sam. Dean told me I was always welcome here when he gave me my room." 

"That's not exactly what I mean." He hits the button on the coffeemaker and takes a seat across from Cas at the table. "I mean it's not just the place you live when you're nearby. You should treat it like _home_ , like you're with family." As soon as Cas squints Sam realizes his mistake. "Sorry. I'm so used to you being in our lives that sometimes I forget that you don't have the same concept of family and home that we do." A moment of awkward silence passes before Cas clears his throat.

"So the two of you play mean tricks on each other, and somehow this is relaxing?" 

"Uh, yes?" Suddenly he has an idea, an idea he knows Dean will absolutely hate -- but that makes it all the more palatable. He feels a momentary twinge of guilt for what he's about to do, and then exhales slowly. "You and Dean spend a lot of time together when we're not on a case, don't you?" Cas's body language changes ever so slightly, but the scholar in Sam learned to read him long ago, much the way he reads his brother. He sees the tension in his shoulders, the way his torso draws in as he clenches his abdominal muscles, almost like bracing for physical impact. 

"Dean likes me to watch movies with him, yes." 

"Right, right. What do _you_ like to do?"

"I...like to watch movies with Dean." 

"Uh-huh. Is there...anything _else_ you would like to do with Dean?" One hand clenches into a fist, but Sam pretends not to notice and changes gears. "Don't you guys go out to the bar sometimes?"

Cas looks at the coffeepot, as though he's willing it to come to his rescue, and doesn't turn back to Sam when he answers. "Yes, we do, but I find that less enjoyable. Dean's attention is often... elsewhere." 

Sam stands to take out some clean mugs, deliberately turning his back to Cas as he answers over his shoulder. "Yeah, he's always had a thing for blondes. They're like magnets." The machine beeps and he pours for them both, continuing as though it's an afterthought. "Something about yellow hair makes him weak."

He brings the mugs back to the table and sets one down in front of Cas, who suddenly seems much more alert, but Sam pretends not to notice that either. He can practically see the gears turning in Cas's head, but Sam just sips from his own mug like the picture of innocence until Dean returns with the groceries.

*******

After helping Dean put everything away into the pantry, Castiel heads back to his room to mull over what Sam said. He's not surprised that Sam guessed at the depth of his feelings for Dean, but is too tactful to ask about them outright. He wonders if it's difficult for Sam to navigate the space between himself and Dean, torn between wanting to help a good friend and not wanting to put his brother in an awkward situation. It would be easier if Sam were less observant, but in the absence of that he tries hard to always keep a flat affect around Dean, to not betray too much emotion. It's more difficult than the mask he wore as a soldier of Heaven -- probably because the person who finally cracked that facade was Dean himself, without even meaning to.

Sam had changed the subject, but not Castiel's train of thought. Truth be told, he much prefers staying in the bunker with Dean than going to the bar. He doesn’t mind when Dean's attention is on the television, totally engrossed in a movie, because Castiel likes to watch the unguarded joy play across his face. At the bar Dean's attention will be solely on Castiel for the first hour or even two, engrossed in conversation, but then his attention drifts. Castiel doesn’t feel the same sense of helplessness during movie nights as he does watching Dean's eyes scanning the bar for a pretty face. 

He's often wondered why Dean never looks at him that way, what the unknown parameters of Dean's attraction are. Castiel knows it's not just because he's trapped in a male vessel, no matter how much Dean may pretend otherwise. He may not read Dean's mind any more out of respect, but he remembers well what he saw there when he did. Dean is attached to the machismo act he's had all his life, even though he knows that Sam really wouldn't care. It's just the role Dean has cast himself in when he's playing big brother: be overt in your attitudes about girls, flaunt your encounters with them, embarrass little brother with your conquests. Dean's assignations with the same sex were always kept private, though Castiel got the sense he enjoyed them much more. 

Over the years he has often been tempted to peek into Dean's mind once more, to get an answer to all the questions he can't bring himself to ask. Does Dean still have relations with men that he keeps secret? What is it about Castiel that makes him unworthy of that attention? Is it because he's so used to keeping that part of his life private, that Castiel is automatically disqualified? Or is it because Dean looks at him and sees _angel_ , despite the fact that he's virtually severed from everything he once was; that Dean could never be attracted to something that was _other_ , was not human? 

It's the last one that he most often tells himself at night, when he feels despair at this situation. 

Now what Sam said is rattling around now in his consciousness, and he considers it as he lies on his bed and stares at the ceiling. He goes through every visit they've made to a bar in the last year, trying to see if there's truth in what Sam says. 

He and Dean have only gone out alone for drinks four times since Castiel came back from the Empty, so he decides to go further back to give himself a larger data set. It takes him a few minutes to do mental calculations for the last ten years, but out of the two-hundred thirty-seven occasions that just Castiel and Dean have been in a bar together, Dean has ended up distracted by a woman two-hundred and eleven times. Forty-two had dark hair, five were redheads, and one-hundred and sixty-four of them were blonde, nearly seventy-eight percent of the total. 

Sam was obviously neither wrong nor kidding about Dean's preferences. 

Maybe what Castiel needs is something that will get Dean to _notice_ him. Maybe Dean is just so used to him being around that he doesn't see Castiel as anything more. Maybe he would notice Castiel if he did something more striking with his look, made himself more appealing. 

He spends the entire night in the thought. Right after breakfast the next morning, he heads into town.

*******

"Sam!" Dean screams down the corridor as he marches towards the bedrooms from the library. Angry footsteps are echoing off the walls, telegraphing the rapid pace of Dean's arrival into the room until he appears in the doorway. "What did you do?" Sam schools his features into a mask of confusion, long used to playing dumb during prank wars.

"Do with what?" He's expecting an angry tirade about Dean rolling into the foosball table, followed by a call for truce now that something's been damaged.

"With _Cas_! Cas is off limits, out of bounds! How could you get him involved?" 

Sam sits up straight, prepared to defend himself. He should have known Cas wouldn't be able to keep his part in the chair prank a secret, that he would confess out of guilt and apologize, but he's not caving that easily. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Dean waves his arms, clearly frustrated and unable to articulate just how. Sam puts his hands on his hips and gives him his best furrowed brow.

"Go see for yourself," Dean finally spits out, gesturing down the hall. Sam squeezes past him with a confused look that he's not even faking at this point, because he really is unsure. He expected Dean to discover the upgrade to his recliner today, so he's not sure why Dean is pointing him towards the library.

It hits him as soon as he reaches the threshold, because the person sitting there is clearly not who he was expecting. It's Cas, of course, but looking nothing like he should. Sam is stunned to see that his hair has been changed to a shocking shade of cartoonish yellow. It looks completely incongruous with the rest of him: his eyebrows and the scruff on his chin still the same dark brown as always, and his face serious as he reads a book.

"Hey Cas," he says, clearing his throat to cover his surprise. "I like what you've done with your hair." He can practically hear Dean's teeth grinding behind him.

"Thank you, Sam." The side-eye of disdain he throws at Dean is unmistakable, and Sam covers his mouth with one hand as he pretends to be distracted by something on his laptop screen. "I'm glad _someone_ noticed and made an effort to be complimentary."

"Of course, man. Change is good, keeps things interesting." Now he can feel Dean's eyes trying to bore a hole into his skull like laser beams, but it has the opposite effect. Sam takes a seat at the table, leaning back in the chair to get comfortable. "What made you choose that color, if you don't mind me asking?" He's actually curious about how his comment led to this particular result.

Cas runs a hand over the hair that now reminds Sam of a bright yellow highlighter. "That man in the Scooby gang, Fred, had hair this color. I thought I'd try it." 

"That's great, Cas! It's good to be inspired when we're exposed to new things, don't you think, Dean?" Sam turns to him, blinking innocently at the red rage on his brother's face until Dean realizes that Cas is watching him.

"Yeah, of course man, I just, uh..." Sam can barely restrain himself from laughing at Dean's obvious discomfort. "I was just _surprised_ , is all. You're not exactly known for changing things up." Cas stares for a moment before he nods, seemingly satisfied with the answer, before going back to his book. Dean clears his throat. "Hey, uh, if you want to take a break from your book we could watch that movie I told you about." 

Cas looks up, and Sam sees the glint of happy excitement in his eyes before he schools his features into studiousness. "Can I make popcorn?" 

Dean seems to visibly relax, leaning against the table. "Of course, man, go ahead. I'll wait here."

The minute he leaves the room Dean drops into the chair next to Sam so he can hiss at him.

"Dude, how could you? He looks _ridiculous_! Did you tell him to do that to his hair?" 

"What makes you think I told him to do anything? He has a mind of his own, he can make his own choices." Dean narrows his eyes at Sam, trying to suss out what actually happened. "If you hate it so much, why don't you say so?"

"I don't want to hurt his _feelings_ , Sam!"

"Oh?" Sam straightens in his chair. "I didn't realize you were so careful of his _feelings_ these days. You never used to be."

Dean opens his mouth to respond but nothing comes out, and he closes it again before he looks away. Sam can see him clenching his teeth, the muscle in his jaw working under the skin.

"I'm trying to be better, okay? He deserves better." They hear footsteps, and Cas comes back into the library with a bowl full of popcorn. "Go ahead, man, I'm right behind you." Cas smiles and heads down the corridor that leads to the Cave. Dean watches him go, and Sam can see a thousand things unsaid on his face. "Maybe we all do."

Sam has spent years watching Dean, studied him closer than any subject in a book from the bunker's vast library. Growing up as they did, they've long communicated to one another non-verbally, but Dean has never considered that Sam might also understand the language he doesn't speak with _someone else_. There's a longing on Dean's face as he stares in the direction Cas went, then a resignation before he gets up to follow him. There's something there, Sam is sure of it. Maybe messing with the status quo will get Dean out of his comfort zone just enough to admit it. Someone has to get these two idiots together, because left to their own devices it will _never_ happen.

A few minutes later he hears Dean barreling back up the corridor, shrieking, no doubt having just discovered the wheels on his recliner.

*******

It's been over a week since Castiel dyed his hair blond, and he still hasn't been able to categorize Dean's reaction to it. 

Dyeing it had been hard work. He'd considered using his grace to do it, but he wanted the authentic experience, so he'd taken a drive to get the proper materials. Castiel always appreciated being able to learn something new, and he could barely contain his excitement. He'd spent several hours first bleaching out his hair, and then dying it the particular shade he'd picked out. The young woman who'd helped him had hair of six different colors, so Castiel felt she'd been the best person to ask for advice on how to accomplish his goal, and she'd been very vocal in her support for his choice. He'd expected Dean to have a similar reaction, had looked forward to telling him just how hard he'd worked to achieve the result.

Instead it had been Sam who immediately reacted the way Castiel had expected Dean to. In fact, Castiel is pretty sure Dean didn't know exactly how to respond until he took his cue from Sam. When he'd come into the Cave afterwards to start the movie he'd looked chagrined, like he'd been ashamed of his initial failure to react properly. Castiel wanted to ask him about it then, but when Dean flopped into his chair he'd gone careening back into the foosball table. He'd stormed out of the room, screaming all the way up the hall at Sam in the most colorful language he knew, and Castiel couldn't help but feel guilty.

Later, Dean angrily removed the wheels on his recliner and then got the movie started. Castiel had finished the popcorn by then, but he found it even harder than usual to concentrate on what they were watching. He'd wanted a particular reaction from Dean to his new look, but Dean seemed resigned to acting like nothing had changed, and Castiel spent the whole movie slipping further into despair.

For the tenth night in a row he finds himself lying on his bed in the bunker, staring at the ceiling and wishing he could sleep the way he did when he was human. To be able to shut down your body and your mind for a while and just not think, let your subconscious work on a problem and maybe wake up with a fresh perspective.

Instead Castiel counts the cracks in the ceiling and ponders.

He knows he did the math correctly, that the percentages did not lie. Dean definitely prefers blondes. What conclusions can Castiel now draw from Dean's reaction, or rather his lack of it?

There's only one, unfortunately. Nothing can make Dean see Castiel the way he wants to be seen -- not just as a buddy or a partner, but as a lover. 

It's probably for the best, he eventually tells himself. Dean doesn't make commitments; his pleasures of the carnal sense are always brief and rarely repeated. By the time Castiel has spent eight identical nights turning this situation over in his mind, he's resigned to the fact that what he has with Dean is probably the closest he'll ever come to fulfilling his desires. After all, their friendship is probably the only thing Dean will ever allow that resembles a relationship. What if he _did_ get Dean to see him in a different light, and they kissed, maybe went ever further than that...what then? After that, he's sure Dean would no longer want him around. 

What Castiel wants is to be with Dean, forever, and he's going to have to accept that this is his only option.

Dean has been treating him the same way he always does: asking Castiel to interpret something as they look up leads, making him a cup of coffee if they're in the kitchen, asking if he wants anything from the store. Castiel tells himself to be happy with it.

This morning Castiel trudges into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee, then sits alone at the table with his hands wrapped around his mug. Dean comes in a few minutes later, and Castiel tenses up, as though Dean can hear his thoughts, then forces himself to relax. Dean sits across from him with his own mug and a gruff good morning, staring into the black liquid as though he’s divining the future before he finally raises his eyes to look at Castiel directly.

"Hey, uh, I've been thinking," he says, dropping his eyes to his mug again as he takes a careful sip. "I know you're trying out new things and all, but I really don't know if this hair color suits you."

Castiel blinks at him, trying to process the statement. "Suits me? What do you mean?" 

Dean looks like he's struggling to find the right words, and he takes another drink from his mug before he copies Castiel and wraps his hands around it on the table. "I just don't think it's the best choice. It makes you look, well...not like _you_ , I guess."

He's been telling himself all week that Dean doesn't care about his hair at all. Now it seems he _does_ care, he just _doesn't like it._ Something about that hurts in a way that the indifference didn't. He takes a deep breath, trying to tamp down his emotions.

"I wasn't aware I had to look a certain way." He tries not to sound petulant, but he's not sure if he manages it given that Dean's eyes go wide.

"No, it's not that you _have_ to do anything, it's just, uh," and something about the way Dean struggles uncomfortably just makes Castiel angry and bitter. He stands up and backs away from the table, abandoning his half-full mug in his desire to get away.

"It's just _hair_ , Dean. I can't imagine it matters much to you or anyone else what color it is, and there's certainly no one who cares if I look a certain way."

He leaves the kitchen and heads to his room, a turmoil of emotions storming their way through him, and he's not sure if he's happy or sad that Dean doesn't follow. He locks himself in, but then feels at a loss for what to do next. He sheds his trenchcoat, then the suit jacket, and even kicks off his shoes before he leans on the sink and stares at himself in the mirror.

"It doesn't matter," he mutters to himself. The color of his hair is absolutely inconsequential to him now. He's done trying to adjust himself to please Dean, and the best way for him to avoid ever making this mistake again is staring him in the face. He runs a hand through his yellow locks, then sighs and goes over to the bed, curling up on his side in a pose uncharacteristic for him. 

It's some time later before there's a tentative knock at his door, but he just curls further into himself and doesn't answer.

"Cas?" a voice says, and of course it's not the voice he wants to hear. "Are you alright? I've been waiting for you in the library for hours." 

He's touched by the concern he hears there, but not enough to want to get up. "I'm fine, Sam, thank you. I can't help you today, I'm sorry."

Sam doesn't say anything else, but Castiel can hear perfectly well the way he shifts his weight on the other side of the door, considering, before he finally walks away. Castiel can only imagine what he's thinking. He's sure that Sam knows all the punctuation of Castiel's longing for Dean: the em dash of him staring across the room as Dean turns pages, the full stop of him chastising himself to return to his own task, an ellipses of feeling at the end of every encounter. Knows, too, that it's a language that his brother cannot speak in return, and he can practically hear the pity in Sam's head as he walks away.

Castiel closes his eyes and wishes, once again, that he could sleep.

*******

Sam walks away from the door feeling slightly guilty. Clearly this prank is having a more intense effect on everyone than he imagined; Dean hasn't even pranked him back yet, his mind clearly on other things. 

He pokes his head into Dean's room as he passes it, even though the open door is already a sign that it's empty. So, too, is Dean's special Man Cave, the surface of the old TV just a black mirror reflecting the empty recliners and the slightly scratched foosball table. It's in the kitchen that he finally finds his brother, his face in his hands and a nearly full cup of coffee between his elbows on the table.

"You okay, man?" 

Dean startles a bit, then rubs his face vigorously before picking up his mug. "I'm fine," he says, his voice scratchy. He takes a sip and grimaces, getting up to dump it into the sink. Sam raises an eyebrow at him when he turns around and leans against the sink. "It was cold."

"How long have you been sitting in here? I've been doing research by myself for hours."

"Isn't Cas helping you?" Dean looks down over his crossed arms as he says this, and Sam can feel the guilt coming off him in waves.

"He was supposed to, but he's shut himself into his room." Dean clenches his jaw, which tells Sam a lot. "I get the feeling you know that already. What did you say to him?"

Dean scratches the back of his head before he sits back down at the table across from him, crossing his arms on its surface and leaning into them. "I've been trying to think of a way to talk to him all week, and I guess my attempt this morning didn't go over well."

"Attempt at what?"

"I was trying to tell him that that haircolor doesn't really work on him."

"Why?" Sam asks flippantly, but he knows. Of course he knows. He just needs to know if _Dean_ does.

"Dude, how can you look at him what that haircolor and not be unsettled by it?" 

"It doesn't matter how he looks, he's still the same old Cas."

"He's not..." Dean shakes his head, staring down at the table, and Sam's sure that someday soon Dean is going to crack his own teeth if he doesn't stop biting back everything he really wants to say. Sam waits, patiently, because he knows exactly what will happen if he prods. Eventually Dean looks up, but he looks over Sam's shoulder instead of directly at him. "I don't like it, Sam. I _hate_ it. I don't know how you convinced him to do it or why, but I wish you'd undo it."

Sam sighs and takes pity on his brother. "I didn't _convince_ him to do anything, Dean, I already told you. All I did was make an offhand comment about something we were talking about. He made his own choices."

Dean finally looks directly at him. "What were you talking about? What did you say?"

"I asked him if you guys did anything else for fun, like go to the bar, and he admitted he didn't enjoy that as much as movie night." Dean looks a little perplexed, so he continues. "He admitted that he didn't enjoy going to the bar as much. I think he prefers movie night because he doesn't have to, uh, _compete_ for your attention."

"Compete?"

"Dean, for someone who's a genius about a lot of things, you are spectacularly obtuse when it comes to Cas."

"Speak _English_ , Sammy. I'm still trying to figure out how any of this led to Cas turning himself into a Ken doll!"

"He did it for you, Dean!" Sam rubs his face in frustration. "He mentioned that your attention wanders when you go to the bar, and I made a comment about blondes being like a drug to you." Dean sits up straight at this, laying his palms flat on the table and staring at the space between them. "I'm not positive where his train of thought took him after that, but it's obvious to me that he thought you'd be pleased." 

"Well I'm not!"

"But why?"

"Because he doesn't look like _my_ Cas!" Dean clenches his hands into fists, resting his forehead on them, his elbows pressing into the table so hard Sam thinks he might bruise. There's silence for several minutes, and he wonders if maybe he should just leave Dean alone with his thoughts. 

"Did he really do it so I'd notice him?" Dean asks softly. 

Sam clasps his hands together in front of him. "Do you really need to ask?" Dean moves his hands to look at him then, his face full of irritation, and Sam nearly laughs to himself. "You're an idiot, you know that?" 

"Yeah, well, I'd have to be to fall in love with a fucking _angel_ , Sammy." 

Sam inhales sharply as Dean's eyes grow wide, and they stare at one another for a beat before Dean groans and puts his head in his hands.

"If it helps," Sam says quietly, "you haven't confessed anything I didn't know already."

"Of course you did," Dean sighs, putting his arms down and hanging his head, staring at the table like it has an answer for him. "Apparently _I_ didn't." He closes his eyes for a moment, but they open with a look of resignation. "Fuck. I guess I _am_ an idiot."

"Oh, there's never been any doubt in my mind. Only you would be in love with someone and go out of your way to pretend you're not." Dean fidgets, and Sam figures he might as well lay it all out. "You think you don't deserve him, don't you? Or you think he can do better; that he doesn't really want _you_ , but he just thinks he does because you spend so much time together." Dean's silence is the loudest acknowledgement Sam has ever heard. " _Dean._ You're not getting any younger. Our lives are no less fraught with danger than they've ever been, and you were sure you lost Cas for good not long ago. I know I'll never convince you that _you_ deserve anything, but don't you think _he_ does?"

Dean's eyes dart up to meet Sam's, but then he looks away again. "I don't know exactly what he wants from me, Sam. I'm not sure he knows either." 

"Then maybe you should just start slow and work through it together. You can learn how to navigate each other the same way we learn how to save the world, by working through it. Just save your creepy horndog bag of tricks for the final exam." Dean rolls his eyes at that and gives Sam the finger. 

"I guess I better try and talk to him again if I'm ever gonna get him to dye his hair back."

"Aw, I think it's kind of sweet."

"I do _not_ prefer blondes, okay?" He looks away for a moment, as though he's deciding something. "You want to know the truth about why I act the way I do in the bar? If I start feeling like I'm going to say too much, or spill my guts to him, I start looking for a distraction. _Any_ distraction. It's easier to spend time with Cas in the Cave because I'm not sitting close enough to him to be tempted."

"Oh, is Cas that much of a wily temptress?" Sam teases, and Dean glares. "You start talking to random chicks in the bar so you don't jump his bones and kiss his stupid face, is that it?"

"Good talk," Dean says as he gets up from the table. "I'm going into town to pick up some things, I'll bring you a salad for dinner, bitch."

"I'll keep an eye on your _other_ baby, jerk."

Almost too late, Sam realizes that Dean is heading straight for the garage, and tiptoes quickly after him. He was so sure Dean would retaliate before now, so he'd already set up another prank. He waits on the opposite side of the door until he hears Dean's angry shout, then heads back to the kitchen, cackling all the way.

*******

The knock on the door is soft but insistent, and Castiel knows that it isn't Sam on the other side. He ignores it at first, but the third set of knocks is paired with a plaintive "Cas?" and he knows he can't leave Dean in the hallway forever. Still, he's not keen to open the door yet, so he leans his forehead against it instead. 

"What do you want, Dean?" he says, loud enough to be heard on the other side. His voice sounds tired. He decides he doesn't care.

"I think I owe you an apology. And an explanation, probably. Which I will deliver through the door if you insist."

Castiel considers making Dean do just that, but all the pettiness seems to have been sapped out of him. He opens the door a few inches, but is so shocked by what he sees that he opens it all the way.

"What happened to you?" 

Dean's clothes and hair are covered in glitter, and though it seems like he's managed to wipe most of it off his skin, what remains keeps catching the low light in the hall and making Dean sparkle.

"I, uh, was kind of hoping I _would_ have to talk through the door so you wouldn't see me like this."

Castiel leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms. "Sam?" he guesses, and Dean nods sheepishly.

"He, uh, filled the vents of the Impala with glitter and left the heat turned on and all the way up, so...I basically got a golden shower." He grimaces, then puts a hand up in apology. "That came out wrong. Actually, I guess I shouldn't come in. This stuff gets everywhere." He seems to hesitate, and it's then that Castiel notices the bag Dean's holding in his other hand, loops of white plastic hanging off two curled fingers.

"Did you actually go into a store covered in glitter?" 

"Yeah, it's, uh...it can wait I guess. I'll go shower and then..."

"Dean," Castiel says gently, grasping at his sleeve as he turns away. "Clearly it's important if you voluntarily went out in public like that and then came straight here first." He drops his hand, suddenly conscious of seeming too intimate. "You can come in if you want. Just...maybe don't sit on anything?" He moves out of the doorway, and Dean nods before he enters, turning as Castiel closes the door behind him and then leans against it.

"I'm sorry about this morning," Dean starts. "I was trying to tell you something, but I didn't say any of the things I should have. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"What _did_ you mean?" 

Dean looks at the ceiling for a moment, then looks away, and Castiel gets the sense that whatever he wants to say is not what actually comes out.

"I wanted to ask you to dye your hair back, but I wasn't prepared for you to ask me why it matters. I've been trying to figure out how to put it into words all day, actually."

"You've never been good with words."

"And it's never been as frustrating for me as it is today." He rubs the back of his neck, and Castiel tries not to be smug about the fact that he's just filled his palm with glitter. He secretly hopes Dean rubs his face next. "I wanted to tell you that the way you look...it shouldn't matter, you were right."

"But?"

"But...it does matter to me. You _matter_ , Cas." He shuffles his feet, then rubs his face, and Castiel can't help grinning. Then Dean looks up, his face a sober mask of an apology now covered with gold glitter, and Castiel just can't hold back anymore. He starts giggling at first, then laughing until he's doubled over, holding his stomach and trying to stay upright. It takes several minutes for him to finally collect himself, wiping his eyes as he stands back up. Dean isn't laughing, but the soft smile on his face is so fond that Castiel feels himself melt a little.

"I guess I should go clean up," he says, moving to open the door and leave, but as Castiel moves aside he spots the bag again.

"Aren't you going to show me what was so important that you went out in public like that?"

Dean looks at the bag as if he'd forgotten about it, then gives Castiel an alarmed look. "Don't be mad, okay? It's just...I really miss your old look, and I thought..." He pulls out a box, and hands it to Castiel, looking embarrassed. "I know it's just hair, and I know it's not up to me, but..."

"Would you help me?" Castiel says, cutting him off as he studies the box. Just for Men in Dark Brown. He's actually touched that Dean did this, that he's trying to tell Castiel _something_ , even if deciphering exactly what is more difficult than his fruit run to Syria. He doesn't look at Dean, afraid he'll give too much of himself away. He can't believe he's asking this, but something tells him it's the right move. "It took ages for me to do it by myself the first time."

"Yeah," Dean says on a sigh of relief. "Sure I can. When do you wanna..."

"Now, if you're not busy." He finally looks up at him and cocks an eyebrow. "Unless you want to shower first."

"Yeah, well," Dean looks down at himself and shakes his head. "I'll grab a change of clothes and meet you in the shower room. We can dye your hair and then I can clean up while it sets. Then you can rinse." He lets himself out of the room, and Castiel stands for a moment, contemplating. Maybe it was unfair of him to expect more from Dean than he can give, but it seems that he does care, in his own way. Castiel turns the box over in his hands, thinking that it really is close to the original color of what was once Jimmy Novak's hair, and is now his. He holds it to his chest and tells himself it's enough. 

True to his word, Dean has placed a chair on the tile floor of the bathroom, indicating that Castiel should sit down.

"You should, uh, probably take that off," Dean says, gesturing at Castiel's torso as he takes the box of dye out of his hands. Castiel starts to undo the buttons, and he sees Dean swallow hard before he turns away, pulling the contents out onto the counter. 

"You don't need to be nervous," Castiel says as he shrugs out of his sleeves, then pulls his undershirt over his head. "It's just hair, after all." He hears Dean laugh to himself a little as he takes a seat, tossing his shirts aside and placing his hands on his knees. Dean busies himself at the counter for a few minutes before he finally turns around, and Castiel could swear he takes a step back and bounces off the edge of the counter. "Are you alright?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean says, shaking the bottle in his hand. "Lost my balance for a sec." He moves behind Castiel, and it sounds like he takes a deep breath. Castiel feels Dean's fingers carding through his hair, and his own breath catches in his throat. He feels the cool, wet sensation of the dye as Dean starts applying it, and he closes his eyes. He hadn't realized that it would be so _intimate_ when he'd asked Dean to help him. He practically revels in the sensuality of Dean's fingers stroking his scalp, working the color through his blond locks, but he forces himself not to relax into the touch. He hopes Dean isn't uncomfortable, but he can't help but enjoy it. 

Dean works quietly for a few minutes after asking Castiel to tilt his head back a little, but then clears his throat. "Sam thinks you did this because he told you I have a thing for blondes. Is that true, Cas?" He doesn't sound strained as he asks this, and Castiel contemplates how to answer before he decides to simply tell the truth.

"Yes. I'm sorry, Dean." He keeps his eyes closed. 

"I'm sorry, too." Fingers are massaging the back of his head now, scratching the scalp gently, and Castiel tries not to audibly sigh. "Mostly because what Sam said is incorrect." 

"No it's not. I did the math based on all the times we went to the bar together and the percentages are clearly..."

"Cas," Dean interrupts, moving to the side and massaging color into Castiel's temples. "I only talk to women at the bar when I start feeling like I'm going to do something inappropriate." At this Castiel finally opens his eyes and raises an eyebrow at him. 

"Yes, Dean. I know that your intent is to do inappropriate things to them, I'm not a child." 

"No, Cas. I mean when I'm afraid I'm going to do something to _you_ that I don't think I should." He tosses the now empty bottle into the nearby sink, then starts working his hands through Castiel's hair, massaging the color into it. 

"I don't understand." He really doesn't. "Are you saying that you get frustrated and want to hit me, so you redirect your energy to a willing female?"

"Oh my god, Cas, no," Dean says, stripping off the latex gloves he's wearing and tossing them into the sink with the bottle, then fiddling with a timer that he must have brought from the kitchen. "I mean, yes, I get frustrated, but it's because I want to kiss _you_ , you idiot." He leans against the counter, looking anywhere but at Castiel. 

"What?" He feels breathless and strange. "What did you say?"

Dean crosses his arms and takes a breath, still not looking at Castiel's confused face. "I think I always felt guilty about it, wanting you. Thought it was base for me to want something from you that was so, well, _human_." Their eyes finally meet, and though the warmth in Dean's eyes isn't new, the conviction in them is. 

"You want me?" Castiel whispers, his hands grasping his knees desperately. It's too much to believe, to hope, maybe he heard him wrong...

"Yes." Dean pushes off the counter and comes to stand in front of Castiel, reaching out to cup his cheek. "So did you go blond because...because you want me to want you?"

"Is that...is that from a song?" Castiel asks stupidly, his mouth suddenly dry, but Dean just laughs softly. 

"You didn't answer my question," Dean whispers. "Do you want me, Cas?" His thumb rubs Castiel's cheekbone as their eyes lock onto one another, and Castiel feels as though an eternity passes as the timer clicks softly in the background.

"Yes," he whispers in return. Dean's lips curl upward ever so slightly, and he leans down to brush their lips together.

The timer buzzes loudly in the background, and Dean laughs as he pulls away to turn it off. "It's time to rinse out that color." He stops the buzzing sound, and Castiel makes a decision. 

"You never washed any of that glitter off," he says, smirking at Dean. "It would be more efficient if we took care of both things at the same time, don't you agree?"

Dean's neck flushes red up to the tips of his ears, but he nods. He turns away to strip off his shirts, and Castiel steps out of his pants and pulls off his socks, but hesitates to take off his boxers. Dean seems equally unsure where he now stands in his boxer briefs, so Castiel reaches out to take his hand, pulling him towards the closest shower stall. He doesn't let go of Dean as he turns on the water and adjusts the temperature. 

"Come on," he says, getting under the spray and tugging at Dean. 

"Cas," he smiles, shaking his head as he follows. Dean takes control soon enough, turning Castiel to face him with his back to the water, gently rinsing the dye from his hair before he leans in to kiss him properly, fingers tangled in his once again dark locks. Castiel brings his hands up to rest on Dean's hips, tucking his thumbs into the waistband of his soaking boxer briefs. He realizes that his own white boxers are probably transparent now, any sense of propriety lost, but it's a fleeting thought soon lost in the sensation of Dean's lips. He's imagined what it would be like to finally kiss Dean a thousand times, vague daydreams without any context of how it would actually feel. Nothing could have prepared him for the reality of Dean tilting his head just so, splaying a hand on the small of his back to pull him closer as steam rises all around them under the spray.

He's not sure how much time passes before Dean pulls away, making sure all the color has rinsed out of his hair. Castiel grabs a bar of soap and lathers it into suds between his hands, reaching out to wash the glitter off Dean's arms, fingers massaging the skin from shoulder to wrist as shiny bubbles wash down the drain.

As they get out Dean hands a towel to Castiel, keeping his eyes averted as he takes another for himself. Castiel dries himself off slowly as he watches Dean do the same, then rub his hair vigorously before wrapping the towel around his waist, then stepping out of his wet briefs and leaving them on the floor. Castiel starts to do the same, but then Dean is holding up his dead guy robe. 

"Here, it's chilly in the hall," is all he says, but Castiel knows the gesture is bigger than it seems. He turns to put his arms into the sleeves, then divests himself of his own wet boxers before he wraps it around himself and turns to Dean, who smiles softly as he ties the belt for him. He runs his fingers through Castiel's wet hair, then cups his cheek before leaning in to kiss him again, softly, a promise. "Let's go watch a movie."

*******

As Sam heads to bed he notices that Dean's door is open, a soundtrack he recognizes coming out of the room. It's late, but he decides to poke his head in and make sure Dean hasn't conked out at his laptop again, fretting over what to do about Cas. 

Dean _is_ asleep as he expected, but Sam’s not sure how to process the rest of what he finds. Cas is sitting with his back against the headboard, laptop on his thighs, eyes on the screen. He's wearing clothes that Sam is familiar with, but has never seen on the angel before: a pair of grey sweatpants that Dean wears when he's been especially beat up on a case, his favorite Zeppelin t-shirt, and white gym socks. He has an arm around Dean, who is curled into his side, head pillowed on Cas's chest. Cas is running his fingers up and down Dean's bicep, and Sam smiles as he leans on the doorjamb. With all the supernatural things in their lives, he's touched how natural the scene before him is, how at home Cas looks in Dean's space and in his clothes. 

"Hey," he whispers, and though he expects Cas to be startled he looks up calmly. "How long's he been out?" 

"Ever since Indy got the idol taken away from him in the jungle."

Sam laughs softly and shakes his head. "Judging by the color of your hair I guess he finally managed to talk to you. Everything back the way it was, then?"

Cas smiles as he glances down at the figure sleeping against him before turning back to Sam. 

"Only my hair," he says, and the consummate joy on his face is an expression Sam never thought he'd see on a creature such as an angel. He pushes off the doorjamb to head down to his room, but pokes his head back in.

"When he wakes up, tell him the war's over."

"It certainly is," Castiel whispers as Sam walks away, pressing a kiss into Dean's hair. “And for once, we’ve all won.”


End file.
